


Through the Bars of a Rhyme

by bluespring864



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Coping, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Louis' lyrics, M/M, Massive amounts of pining, Niall's Larry soundtrack, POV Harry, POV Louis, but also:, by which I mean Non-AU, defenceless, habit - Freeform, hopeful, talking about death, too young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluespring864/pseuds/bluespring864
Summary: They fell apart.The songs are there to tell the story. But maybe, they'll tell a different story again, one day soon.(Complete)





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted anything that's not finished. This isn't quite, but almost.
> 
> The first part, Harry's POV, was mostly written ages ago (the file was created in March 2018...). None of this was inspired by Louis' new songs. I listened to them today and thought I had to post it, because some of it fits eerily well.  
I also spent most of today writing the second part, which is from Louis POV and which I will post in a few days at the latest. That one is very much inspired by "Defenceless", "Habit" and "Too Young".  
Maybe there'll be an epilogue, not sure about that yet.
> 
> I know this is an AU-prone fandom, but I don't write AUs (except for the part where I make it all up, of course...). So, as far as I can tell (though I'm certainly not as much of an expert as some people in this fandom...) this is more or less "canon compliant", with my own interpretations of what's going on behind closed doors.
> 
> I hope you'll like it anyway.
> 
> P.S.: All of my RPF is and will stay for registered users only. You may send the epub to friends, as long as it doesn't end up somewhere on the internet where people could google it and accidentally stumble upon it.
> 
> P.P.S.: Title from the Dire Straits classic about star-crossed lovers. Yup, I went there. What else can you do, with those two.

_Oh, I can't believe I gave into the pressure_

_They said a love like this would never last_

_So I cut you off_

_‘Cause I didn't know no better_

LT, Too Young

Harry liked to think he was past the point of needing to come out, liked to think it was nobody’s business, thank you very much, and if people would just take the trouble to listen to what he was saying, they’d know anyway.

It hit him on an otherwise uneventful L.A. morning that he couldn’t be sure whether this idea had always been his, or whether it had subtly seeped into his mind with all the times he’d heard ‘you can’t do that’ from the higher-ups during 1D, with all the times he’d toed the line in response. For a while, it had been a lot of fun, toeing the line. Maybe too much fun.

Maybe, he’d once wanted to come out, and it was only the strange mixture of deflecting and hinting, this weird but – at least in the beginning – amusing dance, that had made him believe otherwise.

Vainly, he tried to remember, and couldn’t. At sixteen, he’d been sure of a lot of things, but…coming out? That hadn’t been one of them.

Being mostly gay (words like pan hadn’t been in his vocabulary back then), that he’d been sure about. But whether and how he wanted to share that with the world? His opinion on that had wavered from day to day. Had, however, easily veered more towards coming out when people suggested, very strongly suggested, to keep things quiet.

But then, he hadn’t wanted to ruin anything for anyone, so he’d gone along with it at first.

Had talked to the boys about it, as soon as he felt sure of them.

Louis first, of course, who’d declared the talk Harry had gotten from management ‘some sick shit’. Who assured him that they’d left him alone about it (‘Must be because all of the girls are gone for you, Harry, you see. Because you’re the real star.’ – ‘Oh, shut up, Lou.’)

But when Harry’d gone ahead and told the others, Louis had looked so shocked that Harry knew in that moment his boy had been keeping things from him. That they’d talked to Louis, too, and Louis hadn’t told him.

And that had hurt.

Had hurt with all the might of being in love for the first time, and discovering that the person you loved did not trust you entirely, did not trust you as much as you trusted them.

On this bright and sunny L.A. morning, as Harry threw pieces of fruit in the mixer for a smoothie, he remembered Liam’, Zayn’ and Niall’s faces when he told them, remembered Zayn saying, straight away,

“So, you and Louis…?”

Remembered Louis’ quiet “yeah”, and how it had made him forgive Louis immediately for not telling him everything before.

Remembered Niall’s slightly astonished, but very cute ‘Aww’, remembered Liam (‘I’ve decided that I should be the responsible one’-Liam) saying, sounding not at all surprised,

“All right, guys, what are we going to do about this?”

That was when they’d decided to toe the line.

It had been an easy consensus.

During those early days, none of them would have felt in a position to openly oppose management decisions. They’d already started to ‘make it’, but they’d sure not been established yet, and, most importantly, it hadn’t felt like they were. It had felt like it could be taken away from them at any second.

So, toeing the line it had been.

“Least we can do, least we can do,” Liam had repeated several times, and had clapped Louis and him on the back.

And that had been that.

Cue the boyfriend jokes, and then pretty soon afterwards, the beard jokes, so many beard jokes, because it had been honestly ridiculous, how they kept setting them up with girls.

It had often been hilarious to Harry. Less to Louis, he knew and noticed, but Louis didn’t want to talk about it, not when they kissed in the car, not when they slipped under the covers at night.

Harry had let it go.

How he regretted that.

He should have gotten Louis to talk. Maybe, if he could have just gotten Louis to talk to him…

But Louis had been the older one (at a time when two years of age difference still mattered) and the cooler one (whatever Louis might say, to Harry he would always be the cool one out of the two of them). Harry had followed Louis’ lead when it came to their relationship. Louis had been with boys before, much more seriously than the bit of fumbling around Harry had done before they’d gotten together.

So, yeah, Harry had told the band, and he liked to hint at it much more openly than Louis, but when it came to the two of them, Louis had called the shots.

Or not.

It was the ‘not’ that became the problem.

Louis had retreated into a shell, more and more, had clearly resented his ‘girlfriend outings’, but had started to call them necessary, had cultivated his ‘I have to do this’-mindset.

It hadn’t helped that no one liked to talk with management much, and that Louis had more and more become the guy they send when they needed to sort stuff out.

Louis, who always came back with a great deal, or an acceptable compromise, something they could at least live with.

It had been a long time before Harry suspected that Louis was trading something when he got management to give an inch on some creative decision.

Oh god, it had taken him way too long to realise that.

By that point, they’d had so many irritated discussions where Harry accused Louis of pulling back, so many moments where Louis shunned him and Harry knew (and began to resent the fact) that this forced him into ‘lost puppy’-mode.

Toxicity had seeped into their interactions, long before Harry found the courage to say,

“Louis, are you starting to believe the bullshit?”

Harry had not thought, at this point in his life, that you could truly push people back into the closet, and certainly not someone as cocksure about his sexuality as Louis was (God, what a terrible pun. Louis would find that funny, though…Fuck. Just…Fuck.)

After going on four years together, against the odds in a business where women and men were throwing themselves at them left and right, Harry had been so sure of this relationship, had written it in ink all over him and watched in infatuated fascination as Louis followed suit.

Louis had never said it in so many words, that he was sure about Harry, but for a while there, he’d shown it, and that was more important anyway. Louis wasn’t one to talk openly about his feelings, and Harry respected that.

But gradually, Louis was showing it less and less.

Sure, on any given day, in any given interview, he might still play around and find a way to sneak in jokes and hints for people to pick up on, and for their handlers to despair about.

It depended very much on his mood however, which swung more and more into extremes – confident, pleasant and happy one day, insecure, irritated and sad the next.

On and off camera, but mostly off it, of course.

Harry chalked it up to the constant secrecy, the dates with fake girlfriends, the stupid questions from interviewers all getting more and more draining. That was certainly how it felt to him. Harry was being too obvious, couldn’t bear to be anything but when it came to Louis, and it seemed like management was throwing a new girl at him every few weeks in retaliation.

In reality, in this fucked-up reality they were living, it wasn’t quite like that, of course. Harry did his part, albeit begrudgingly. Usually, none of the girls knew outright. Harry was encouraged to be friends with them and make it look a little ambiguous, and most of them got what he was doing right away; they weren’t stupid after all.

But yeah, it was draining. Even with Taylor, who had approached him about fake dating for a while, who’d understood, who did not care to be outed for her not-that-straight-relationship at that point either, it had been draining. They didn’t have all that much free time, and Harry would rather have spent it with Louis.

Should have spent it with Louis, as well, if he went by the way Louis easy smiles faded, or got a pained edge to them.

Harry pushed the button on the mixer and took a certain vicious pleasure in seeing bananas and kiwis and mangos and apples being squashed to pulp.

“Love,” had been the first word out of Louis’ mouth the day he broke up with him, the term of endearment oft-heard but never with such a hurt, wistful sigh in his voice.

Harry remembered wondering what he might have done wrong – stolen some of his things, maybe, looked too much at a guy from the crew, that kind of infraction that could provoke a stupid row in any relationship.

Oh, he’d been so off the mark.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be…”

Louis hadn’t even been able to get the words out, and it had taken Harry a horribly long time to catch on to what he was trying to say.

He had started protesting as best he could.

Weakly, because of the shock.

“You know how I feel about you. This might be… a bit of a rough patch, I guess. But you can’t tell me that you don’t feel – “

The look in Louis eyes had interrupted him effectively.

And then, and then…

“Honestly, Harry… I… I feel nothing.”

Quietly, in a firm voice.

Back in his kitchen, Harry nearly dropped his smoothie, as an echo of the explosion of hurt he’d felt at the time hit him squarely in the chest.

He would forever hate himself for lashing out, for stopping to ask questions in that moment, but it had been the automatic reaction, the maybe unavoidable reaction to such an unexpected hit.

It had taken months for him to begin to unravel things.

There’d been a few very awkward concerts during that tour.

At least, he didn’t have to tell the boys. Louis had done that, off-handedly, like it was no big deal.

Harry knew, because Niall couldn’t keep his mouth shut (“Louis just said ‘yeah, we broke up’, I mean, he’s messing with me, right, tell me that’s not… that can’t be true, Harry? Oh god... Hey, come ‘ere.”)

After a few weeks, Harry had calmed down enough to think.

It had been Liam, yeah, that’s right bloody – ‘I don’t want to talk about feelings with you Styles, no matter how gay you are’ – Liam who had to remind him how very insecure Louis could be.

As transparent as he could be in other matters, about this one thing, Louis was a master of deception. He could seem so sure of himself, so comfortable in his skin, when all he wanted was to crawl out of it.

With helpless fury, Harry began to understand that every time a reporter declared him the ‘ladies’ man’, it cut into Louis heart, no matter how much Harry pulled faces and tried to reassure him afterwards.

It was an even bigger shock to realise Louis was insecure about his place in the band, was feeling like the only one who didn’t deserve the success they had.

He was uncomfortable with his wealth, that Harry had known. They all were, some days. No one deserved the wealth they were accumulating, really, it was crazy. Absolutely bonkers.

But why Louis out of all of them should feel inadequate… It defied explication.

Because this was Louis, who kept the band together, who kept them sane with his jokes and his sass, who could sing with an ethereal beauty and melt hearts with a look or a grin.

Louis, whom Harry had fallen in love with at the age of sixteen.

It took Harry almost a year to tell Louis all of this.

And he only did it because he was a stickler for pain, knew this would hurt and felt compelled to do it anyway, despite or perhaps because of it.

He honestly hadn’t expected for Louis to break down and take him back.

But of course, Harry couldn’t say no.

Never no to Louis.

~---~

It had been…

…different.

If one looked at it soberly, it had probably been progress that, this time round, Louis at least didn’t hide the fact that he wasn’t telling Harry everything, trusted him at least that much. But it had been hard not to pick fights because of that, to try (and fail) at trusting him when he wasn’t fully trusted himself, to not get impatient about what Louis was keeping from him.

Harry was a patient man, but in this, he hadn’t been patient enough. It just hurt too much, to see the way Louis kept hurting himself.

There had been those extremes again – Louis had ‘broken up’ with Eleanor in the meantime, and he was adamant about not getting a new fake girlfriend. But from one day to the next, he could go crazy about keeping his distance from Harry for appearance’s sake, or, worse, start acting like there was nothing between them at all.

More and more, during that last year of the band, suspicions had kept forming in Harry’s mind.

There had never been any confirmation, only a few overheard words, a few strange situations, that he shared with Liam and Niall, who had their own little observations to contribute.

From what he pieced together, Harry had to at least suspect that at one point, relatively early on, management had threatened to kick Louis out of the band, perhaps suggested they might replace him.

Which was ridiculous, neither the fans nor the band would have stood for it, but who knew what Louis might have believed.

He now assumed Louis must have had the same talk they’d given Harry once, trying to argue that maybe the world was ready for ‘one gay guy’ in a boyband, but certainly not for two who were in a relationship.

He remembered his own response well.

“If the others can be in a relationship with a girl, they’re just as unavailable as those of us who happen to be gay.”

And the answer to that?

“That’s different. There’s still the possibility of…”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Betting on the fact that it wouldn’t work out, that they’d be single again soon enough. Or that they’d be able to orchestrate the whole thing, media-frenzy-breakup at commercially convenient times included. _Disgusting_.

That kind of pressure had gotten to Zayn most, because he was the one they pushed to the craziest extremes. Just because… well, because they could, because Zayn wasn’t ready for his family to find out certain things about him. (Which was another thing that had become clear only in hindsight, and Harry would never ever forget the way Liam was shaking when he told him about it.)

Harry would have hoped that, faced with that type of atrocious and really pretty overt comment from management he himself had been getting (‘there’s still the possibility of…’), Louis, who had very much been out to his family, would have told the tossers to fuck off just like Harry himself had done, but…

But even if Louis had done so at the time, he’d changed so much compared to those earlier days.

And even if it rarely looked completely false on him, because it had developed gradually, Harry understood more and more that Louis was putting on this new personality.

That somewhere, buried deep, there was the flirty, spontaneous, sweet and often rather camp guy he’d fallen in love with.

The same guy who now, the second time around, insisted that he didn’t want even the hint of a PDA, because this was private, thank you very much, and he didn’t want the fans to speculate.

_That ship had sailed long ago, though_, Harry thought as, in his L.A. kitchen, he gulped down his smoothie without tasting it, then coughed because it had gone done the wrong way when he noticed the stupid pun. Again with the puns.

Puns really weren’t any fun when he didn’t have Louis to groan at them and declare them horrible. Nothing was any fun when he didn’t have Louis.

Well, that wasn’t quite true.

He had good days, days where he managed to forget for a while. Or find something that helped with forgetting. Well.

Harry suspected he would have long gone crazy without those days. Started taking much more serious drugs maybe, or at least gone on an alcohol-binge like Louis had done.

That had hurt like hell, too, having people ask him whether Louis was alright, after they’d already broken up again.

This time, Harry had seen it coming from miles away.

It was a disaster waiting to happen, when Louis retreated more and more, while Harry didn’t give a fuck anymore about management warnings, neither on stage nor in interviews. Louis berated him for being so ‘dramatic’ (because he couldn’t very well say ‘gay’) and Harry didn’t know how to react to that. So he simply continued on the path he’d chosen. He didn’t come out in so many words, because he didn’t think it necessary.

Or had he convinced himself of that, been convinced of that? His mind was running in circles.

Anyway, when they’d started talking about the break (‘hiatus’ Harry heard Liam say in his mind, in that voice that so hilariously said ‘you learn something new every day’) Harry knew it would fuck him and Louis up again, after barely a couple of months back together. Knew they were on thin ice already, because Harry’s broad public hints about his sexuality were pushing and pushing Louis to the breaking point.

But Harry couldn’t advocate for keeping the band together just for their sake.

Everything felt wrong at that point, and Harry had such strange and horrible thoughts. Sometimes, he suspected that Louis had only gotten back together with him because he saw the split of the band coming and tried desperately to keep it from happening.

And then there’d been the baby announcement, and Harry had outright asked if this was real. It had seemed so absurd. Louis had gone nuts about that. Words like, “Think I can’t get it up with a girl?” might have left his mouth, and Harry might have realised in that moment that he didn’t know this man at all anymore.

They couldn’t very well announce their split, never having been officially together, but so many people in the industry had known about their relationship, after all, without being told. After the first break-up, and then for months after the second one, Harry got the odd worried text when Louis went partying a little too desperately hard.

It probably was about Louis dealing with his mom’s illness more than anything else, the partying, the trying to forget for a while. Even if they were emphatically keeping their distance, Harry had known about Johannah’s illness, had been told over a horrific video call. But, of course, Harry couldn’t tell people that that was what was wrong with Louis. Had to send a hundred ‘not the right person to ask’-texts and got a hundred ‘I’m so sorry’s’ back.

On this lazy mid-morning in L.A., Harry firmly pulled himself out of the downward spiral his mind was taking, and, just to torture himself a little more, let his thoughts drift to the guys he’d slept with since.

(He emphatically didn’t count the one night stands. They had never counted the one night stands, for better and for worse.)

So, the guys.

There had been two.

Joe and Adam.

Both of them nothing like Louis, nothing at all like Louis.

Well, Adam’s confidence had reminded him of another Louis, from long ago.

And maybe, Joe had…

No, that was ridiculous. He just kept seeing Louis everywhere.

Both Joe and Adam had been nice guys, great guys. Guys Harry should have fallen in love with.

It had only lasted a few months with either of them, and neither of them had gotten truly angry when they broke it off.

More than anything, they’d seemed worried, worried for him, and wasn’t that the most pathetic thing ever.

_Pull yourself together, man._

Harry didn’t know what had gotten into him today. Maybe the memories came because he’d be seeing Niall tonight, who was passing through L.A. with his tour. Harry had texted him a few days ago.

_<Is it okay if I watch from backstage?>_

_<Sure, mate. Always happy to see you.>_

So there he went in the early evening, after a long day of trying to shake the turn his thoughts had taken in the morning.

Niall sent specific instructions about where to park and then also sent his drummer out to smuggle him in, and Harry was glad they managed it without him being spotted.

He just needed a bit of a break today.

How he’d managed to block out the thought of what he was about to hear was beyond him.

But there they were, those words in Niall’s beautiful voice.

_And if the whole world was watching/ I’d still dance with you_

_Everything comes back to you_

_Only yesterday we were on the run_

_My shadow’s dancing/ without you/ for the first time_

_Tell me there are things that you regret/ cause if I’m being honest I ain’t over you yet_

_I forget you’re not here when I close my eyes_

_When you feel your love’s been taken_

_I’m afraid that what we had is gone_

_Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me_

Those words, today…

Harry waited until they were alone in the dressing room after the show.

Niall had a second show tomorrow and told everyone that he wasn’t up for partying. Maybe he’d also looked a little too closely at Harry before he said that.

“So, not about anyone in particular, your songs, then.”

Saying those words to Niall, Harry didn’t bother hiding the fact that he’d been crying. Niall had always been a kind friend.

Much like himself, Niall couldn’t lie for shit. Harry had always appreciated that about him. And, sure enough, by the end of Harry’s sentence, Niall had already blushed a furious red and was looking to the floor.

Suspicion confirmed.

“Well, glad I could serve as inspiration, then.”

Startled, Niall glanced up. He looked absolutely gutted. Sounded apologetic, when he spoke up.

“I didn’t mean to – “

“Stop.” Harry cut him off. “That didn’t come out like it should have. I didn’t intend for it to sound so…”

He trailed off, but Niall, who’d also never really known when to better shut up, finished the sentence for him.

“…so bitter.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, mate.”

Harry went willingly into the hug Niall offered.

Just like that, he was close to tears again. Would he ever fucking get over this?

_Not as long as you don’t even want to_, the voice inside his head whispered.

And because today was fucked up anyway, he asked, in a voice that broke and broke and broke,

“Have you seen him? I don’t even know how he is.”

For a few seconds, Niall said nothing. Then he asked whether he could come over to Harry’s place.

Harry nodded and told himself firmly not to worry.

They went their separate ways, Niall going out to greet the still lingering fans, Harry leaving the way he’d come.

Niall arrived about half an hour after he’d gotten home.

Almost wordlessly, they took beers and crisps from the kitchen (yes, Harry still had things like beer and crisps in his house, he wasn’t going full healthcrazy-Hollywood) and flopped down on the nearest couch.

Crunching sounds filled the quiet, half-dark room.

Then, Niall washed his crisps down with a swig of beer, grimaced, and spoke.

“I’d like to tell you he’s fine, but, honestly, I don’t really know. He was in a… don’t know, in something of a weird place when I saw him last. We were at… oh, doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was weird. But then I talked to Liam and he always understood Louis better than me, right?”

Harry nodded slowly, not trusting his voice in the slightest.

“So, yeah, I asked Liam, and he said something about Louis having sorted himself out, and, you know, not in that patronising way people do, but more like, really serious, and with that way Liam looks when he wants you to catch something beyond what he’s saying. Only I didn’t know what that was…”

Niall trailed off and smiled, reflecting the expression that had crept on Harry’s face despite himself.

“I miss Liam,” Harry murmured, a bit wistfully, but still with a slight grin.

And he did.

They’d never been all that close, Harry and Liam, but maybe that hadn’t precluded them from understanding each other. They both liked to bitch about the other a bit (yeah, all right, more Harry about Liam than the other way round) but they respected each other.

And Harry didn’t even want to think where Louis’d be without Liam.

Which brought him back to the thing he so desperately wanted to avoid thinking about. And at the same time it was the only thing he was interested in.

Niall being worried about Louis, Liam saying Louis was ‘sorting himself out’ – what the hell did that mean?

When he looked up, Niall’s eyes were focused on him.

Their looks crossed, and Niall cast his eyes downwards, started to fiddle with the label on his bottle.

“You still…?”

For a second, Harry was angry with him for having asked, for not leaving it alone, but then he couldn’t quite muster it anymore. Maybe he actually wanted to talk about it a bit.

“Yeah.”

Niall looked up again, looked him dead in the eye.

“Right.”

He didn’t sound surprised. His tone was rather melancholy, when he continued after a few beats of silence.

“It was a bit intimidating, you know. Being around you two. I always asked myself if I’d ever find someone who came even remotely close to what you ha… I still ask myself that. And then I kept watching how it hurt you both when it went sideways, and I asked myself whether it would even be worth it, to find someone.”

Harry couldn’t do anything but stare for a second. Then he opened his mouth, and what came out, with hoarse honesty, was,

“Always. Of course it’s worth it. I’d do it all again.”

Niall studied him carefully, tilted his head with a wry smile.

“Yeah. Still kind of intimidating.”

They finished their beers in silence.

Before he disappeared into one of the guest rooms, Niall threw over his shoulder, out of nowhere,

“My nan in Ireland’s always telling me she prays for me when I’m on the road. If there’s one thing I’m praying for, it’s you two.”

Harry stood frozen to the spot for a long while.

The bastard had managed to make him cry again.

This time, however, the tears were almost a relief. They dropped down his face, washing away the hurt and the bitterness.

_If there’s one thing I’m praying for._

_Yeah, Niall, if there’s one thing that could get me to pray, it would be that as well._

~---~

The small package arrived by courier on another otherwise unassuming morning, several weeks after the day he’d gone to see Niall.

“From Liam Payne,” the courier said, trying to look as if he didn’t care at all that he was talking to Harry Styles, and failing rather miserably. Harry put on his most charming smile and watched the guy stutter.

“You… ehm, you need to sign for it.”

Harry complied, a bit confused.

What might Liam be sending that was important enough to justify someone ringing at his gate and delivering it in person?

As soon as he was inside, the door closed behind him, Harry ripped open the plain white package.

Out came a lot of bubble wrap, and a CD, in a cheap black plastic casing.

The writing on the disc made him draw in a sharp breath.

_‘Harry_.’

In a messy scrawl he would have recognised anywhere.

_From Liam Payne, my ass._

The day passed without Harry doing anything except avoiding to come close to the CD case he’d placed on his stereo, unopened, and then intermittently running to look paranoidly whether it was still there.

He had half a mind to get drunk, but in the end he stayed sober, when he finally took the CD out of the casing, put it in the stereo, and pressed play.

It was dark outside, and Harry didn’t know where the day had gone.

Then, Louis’ voice filled the room, and for over an hour, Harry didn’t know much about anything anymore.

Once, in the middle, he pressed ‘pause’ and restarted a song, because, surely, he couldn’t have heard correctly.

But there it was again, and then there was something else in the next song, and another line on top of it that was just…

At the end of the over seventy minutes of Louis’ album (assuming that was what this was), Harry had relived the last five years, from Louis’ perspective, and it had been wonderful and horrible, euphoriant and sickening, and, most of all, eye-opening.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d picked up his phone and dialled a number he hadn’t called in a long time.

_Pick up, pick up, pick up, god no, Harry, what the hell are you going to say to him if he does…_

He didn’t pick up.

The tone for leaving a message beeped it’s permission to say something, and Harry did, still not thinking at all.

“Louis. Where are you. Where? Come here.”

His mouth wanted to go on, but his mind stopped it.

He was suddenly horrified. What the hell did he think he was doing? But before he knew it, he’d ended the call, and hadn’t deleted the message.

That message was on Louis’ phone right now.

Now, alcohol was even more tempting, but everything felt numb anyway, as if experienced through a thick fog.

Harry let the numbness carry him to bed.

He crawled under the covers, burrowed into a nest of blankets and easily gave himself over to sleep.

He woke with a start the next morning, sure of having dreamed all of it.

Barefoot and in shorts, he ran into the living room and pressed play again.

Louis’ voice rang out, loud and painfully clear, and Harry pressed ‘pause’ quickly, feeling panicky instead of elated.

This was not supposed to happen. Louis hadn’t, Louis couldn’t have…

Before he could decide what to do, the doorbell rang, followed by rapid-fire knocks. That was weird, because there weren’t that many people who knew the gate code and would also be up this early.

Forgetting himself, Harry almost opened the door in his boxer shorts; ran back at the last minute for his favourite dressing gown (purple with white and silver ornaments).

He threw a look at the screen of the ridiculous front door camera this house was equipped with and almost jumped back physically.

_Louis._

_Louis, Louis, Louis._

_Lou._

Half convinced again his mind was playing tricks on him, he tore open the door.

“Har – Oh my god, what are you wearing?”

It was Louis, the real Louis, his Louis (well, never really his, it had turned out, but Harry had always liked to delude himself that he was).

He heard himself answer on complete autopilot.

“Too gay?”

It was meant to be flippant, but it came out very, very bitter.

Louis looked like Harry had slapped him across the face, and took an abrupt step back.

_No, no, no, my dear one, don’t –_

“Sorry, sorry,” the words started tumbling out of his mouth hastily. “Don’t leave, Lou, come in, I didn’t mean…”

To his astonishment, Louis stepped closer again immediately, and his face crumpled into an even more abashed, guilty look.

And then he spoke.

“Hey, hey, calm down, love. I’m not leaving until you throw me out, promise.”

_That’s a dangerous promise, love, I might take you up on it_, Harry thought, but he didn’t voice it, just gestured for Louis to come in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, because he just had to. Didn’t want to, in case it scared Louis off, but had to anyway.

“You told me to come?”

_Oh_.

_Right._

Harry looked to the floor, and wondered when he’d last felt such a stunning lack of confidence. Laughing the matter off was an utter impossibility.

“You got the album.”

Louis sounded calm, sure, everything Harry was not, and he didn’t remember a time when that had last been the case, only realised now that that’s how it was supposed to sound, that during the last years, all the times Louis had sounded certain of himself, he must have been putting it on.

“Are you… is it going out like this?”

There was one of those sad little smiles Harry hated, because Louis looked so unhappy wearing them. Then, a fierce flash of something in his eyes Harry had thought long-lost.

“God no.”

Louis still had the ability to read him immediately. Before the wave of disappointment had even fully hit Harry, he added hastily,

“No, no, it’s just… I’m not at all satisfied musically, and there’s one or two songs that’s still giving me trouble, but other than that, lyrics-wise, this is it. I mean, even the new team wasn’t as fine with it as they’d first said, you see, but I convinced them.”

Louis looked immensely tired. Apparently it stemmed from a long and draining fight.

But here he was, the Louis whom Harry had missed so desperately over the years. Not falsely confident anymore, not cripplingly insecure either.

“God, Lou, I don’t…”

Or perhaps still a tad insecure, if one went by the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes darted away from Harry’s face.

“… I don’t know what to say.”

Louis’ laugh was barking and bitter. So much bitterness. Bitterness on both sides.

“That’s a hell of a reason to tell me to come and see you.”

Strangely enough, by the end of it, he sounded more resigned than bitter, like he couldn’t lay claim to anything better. And that wasn’t… that wasn’t how it should be. Louis could always claim anything he wanted from Harry.

Silently, Harry looked at him, filed away the little differences, the new haircut, the rings beneath his eyes, and the huge difference: the new stillness, none of the usual fidgeting.

This was the man he loved, and that would never change, however much Louis might change.

“Can I… hug you?”

It was a terrible idea, of course. They’d always fit so well, and their bodies wouldn’t necessarily remember that they weren’t doing this anymore.

But Louis just let out a slightly chocked, almost wounded sound, and stepped forward.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Harry felt at home, as everything slotted into place for precious seconds, as he gripped on too hard and Louis didn’t complain. With a sigh, Harry burrowed his face in Louis’ neck.

They stood motionless for a while, long enough for Harry’s mind to fill with fragments of the soundtrack Louis had written to their life over the past few years, complete with Louis insecurities about not being good enough, and his struggles with his sexuality, and all the faults he berated himself for. Plain to hear for everyone who’d listen.

A whole lot of history, indeed.

Somehow, Louis had managed to emerge victorious from all of this, without Harry’s help.

_I should have fought harder for this, never should have let you go._

_Wish you could be mine again._

~---~

Louis stayed almost the whole day.

It was awkward, both of them avoiding any touches after the hug, both of them not quite sure how to talk to each other anymore.

Harry sounded stilted when he asked what brought him to L.A., Louis sounded stilted when he replied that seeing Freddie was the main reason he’d flown over, in between bouts of X-factor-filming.

The effort to bite his tongue and not ask after Simon bloody Cowell was herculean, and also completely superfluous, because Louis frowned and said in a quiet voice,

“Simon doesn’t know anything. He thinks I’m doing a different album. I’ll tell him… after I’m done with the show. I think.”

_Oh god._

That would get ugly, Harry thought, even as the little voice in his head kept nagging that Louis hadn’t told anybody after all, might still chicken out of this.

Speaking of chickening out…

“Do you think I should come out?”

Harry asked it into another one of those awkward silences stretching between them, at some point in the late afternoon. It just fell out of his mouth. Nothing he could presently say could make things much more awkward than they were already.

There it was, the fidgeting that had been missing before, which was also strange. By all means, that question should make Harry uncomfortable, not Louis. Then again, Louis had always clammed up when Harry took a step further towards coming out.

“What, do you have trouble pulling and need a bigger pool of potential boyfriends?”

The sudden nastiness was a shock.

_No, you asshole, I can’t get over my first boyfriend, if you must know._

He didn’t say it, of course, just kept quiet and turned away, didn’t have to wait long for Louis’ defeated “Sorry”.

He sounded sincere, and Harry forgave him way too easily. Always had.

“Nah, just wondering recently if I haven’t gotten too enamoured with toeing the line.”

Louis walked around him, to get them face to face again. Harry let him.

“I always hated that.”

_So honest today, my dear._

“Yeah, I know, Lou. But I never got the feeling either that that meant you wanted to announce it to the world. Quite the opposite.”

There it was again. The reproachful tone, full of bitterness. Harry had so hoped he’d gotten over the bitterness, at least for today.

Louis’ head disappeared between his shoulders, everything about him radiating guilt. But then he drew himself up to his full height, and gave Harry a slow once-over.

“Oh, when I still allowed for the possibility that you could be mine, I came quite close sometimes, believe me.”

And with that, he left Harry standing in his own living room.

Just turned around and walked out.

Like coming out of a trance, Harry jumped when he heard the front door fall closed.

What the flying fuck had that been?

_And you didn’t keep your promise either, Lou._

~---~

Harry tormented himself for a day and a half, trying to make sense of Louis statement, trying to make sense of this insane situation.

Then, finally, he gave in and… sent a text.

Didn’t call, coward that he was.

_<Just to set the record straight, because it’s apparently necessary: I was always yours.>_

He wasn’t brave enough either to add ‘Still am.’, not brave enough by a long shot. Wasn’t ready to reveal just how pathetic he was.

There was no reply.

Louis was doing live shows for the Factor this week, and Harry stayed in and watched, tormented himself with it, with all the things he now knew and in many cases hated about how this show worked, and with all the ways he could imagine one might kill Simon Cowell.

The worst thing was, he couldn’t even take pleasure in that anymore, couldn’t see that man as evil now. Just prejudiced and set in his ways, a product of the industry he worked in and the particular position he occupied in it.

Harry would never forgive Simon for the way he’d wormed himself into Louis life, for the way he’d infected Louis with his worldviews and his prejudice, but he couldn’t be angry anymore since he’d realised that, in all probability, Simon hadn’t done it so much on purpose, as Louis had latched onto it.

Louis had not been forced, but encouraged to copy, and it was entirely possible that he had wanted to do so. Had looked up to Simon, had been impressed by the businessman, the guy who knew what he was doing. Had tried to emulate that, and had somehow also thought it necessary to emulate the way Simon strove to hide gayness, was uncomfortable with it for years, and even when he started to tolerate it a little more, was adamant about it having nothing to do with himself.

The stupid closeted bisexual arsehole.

But Harry tolerated watching the arsehole in exchange for being able to see Lou, even if he didn’t really understand why Lou was on the show. Harry wasn’t convinced he really enjoyed the process of it. Working with the artists, sure. But all the scripted selections, the way people’s hopes would be raised and crushed… no, Louis couldn’t be enjoying that. Perhaps doing the show had been one of Lou’s stupid ‘I’m not going to make it as an artist, l’ll have to take what I’m offered’-decisions.

Harry had never, not even in his most deluded moments of teenage grandeur, understood what people saw in him over Louis.

Louis was perfect.

Well, now, of course he wasn’t.

Louis was often resentful, and possessive, and bitchy, and sometimes even aggressive, and completely and utterly fucked up, and…

He was perfect.

So Harry kept watching, week after week, kept watching just for Louis. He knew he wasn’t the only one doing so. Despite himself, he got pulled into the show a bit more than he’d wanted to. Louis’ enthusiasm was catching. Perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed… _No. Stop it. Just because Louis is enjoying it, and you like seeing him happy, this show doesn’t get better._ It still had the power to ruin the lives of people less fortunate than they had been. As a teenager, he hadn’t been all that troubled by the ‘swim or sink’-mentality, had often managed to ignore the hints that the game was rigged, but he couldn’t dismiss it as easily anymore nowadays.

Still, he smiled and cheered when he saw Louis’ team do so well.

Periodically, he looked at his unanswered text.

And then, on a whim, added a new line on a strange night.

Louis was rehearsing in studio, somewhere in London, trying out album stuff in front of a select few, and for some unfathomable reason, Nick was there, even if they hadn’t always gotten along all that well. Which had always bothered Harry, because Nick was a good friend, and he could have done without Louis bitching about him (and vice-versa).

Anyway, tonight (well, tonight in L.A., it had to be late afternoon in London) Nick was at Louis’ top secret rehearsal/gig and he had managed to keep his phone on him, which was even weirder. Had Harry been sober that evening, he would have had a lot of questions to ask, but he was just drunk enough to let them float away unspoken. They popped up in his head and drifted away again rather pleasantly, and Harry let them go without regret.

Nick stood in a corner of the room, whispering into his phone mike what he was doing, his face barely visible in the darkness.

Harry sobered up a bit when Nick turned his phone, filming Louis’ back as he stood on a tiny stage, talking to the audience, then launching into ‘Miss you’. It sounded different, somehow, but Harry couldn’t put his finger on why that was.

He sat up straighter on his couch, clutching his phone in his hands, whishing he could see Lou’s face.

_‘…and it hits me when the lights go on. Shit. Baby, I miss you.’_

He would have asked himself if he’d misheard, what with the less-than-ideal quality and all, but on the last chorus, Louis had practically shouted the words.

“Did you know he was going to do that?” Harry murmured into his phone speaker, then repeated himself more loudly to give Nick a chance of understanding him over the applause and general noise on his end of the line. Nick’s face was there again for a second, and with a half-smile and a shrug that could mean anything, he disconnected the call without warning.

Harry shook his head, even if no one was around to see it. He was still drunk enough to not think too much about what he was texting. To Louis, again. Of course.

_<Yeah. Me too. And there never was any ‘maybe’ about it, btw.>_

He forced himself not to wait for an answer. Which was for the better, because he didn’t get one.

But…But.

The next day, he got a call from Eleanor Calder.

Yes, really.

He was weary about picking up to start with, because ‘unknown number’ rarely spelled anything good and he did not want to have to change his phone number again, but for a second he would have preferred that, would have preferred a barrage of calls from fans over fucking E.C.

“Don’t hang up,” she said, and added a “please”, that Harry found really confusing.

“What do you want?” he asked, but his confusion took the bite out of it.

“Just wanted to tell you that I think you’re getting somewhere. Don’t stop.”

“What?”

_What the actual hell._

“Harry. I’m his friend. I’m just telling you as a friend – “

“_What_?”

“Harry.”

God, her voice was as annoying as ever. And she didn’t make any sense.

He heard her sigh, a put-upon sound.

“We do spend a lot of time together.”

Was she trying to make him angry now? Harry gritted his teeth.

“I know.”

“Oh, don’t.”

Her giggle was even more annoying.

“You know, it’s cute, really. When you get like that because of him.”

Those words should have driven him up the wall, but her tone was the opposite of mocking. Quiet, almost sad.

“How are you even real right now?”

Harry felt very stupid, but this was… this was not something that was supposed to happen. With a start, he realised it had been a while since something had surprised him. Really surprised him completely and utterly, like this was doing, right now. Whatever it was.

“I’m trying to tell you. I’m his friend. Have been, for a while. Girl-friend, if you like, but I insist on that being two words, not one.”

“…”

“You do get what I’m saying? Well, at least I hope so. You know, because I just wanted to say, keep at it, with the texts, or whatever else you’re doing. If you really want him back, that is. Because he doesn’t tell me everything, but I know he wants to. Wants to get back with you, I mean. Only, if you ever hurt him, be advised that I have my ways to fuck you up.”

“Um…”

“Oh, I have to go.”

The call disconnected.

Harry stared at his phone like it was an alien thing. Maybe it was. Some strange sounds had just come out of it, after all.

Half an hour later, half a day later, half a week later, half a month later he was still steamrolled by that call.

But he’d also sent a few more texts to Louis.

Christmas was coming, and it was making him more sappy than usual.

He kept thinking about the Tomlinsons, having to spend this time of year with a gaping hole in their midst where a bright, wonderful woman had once been. Harry suspected time did little to mitigate the pain.

It tore at him, that he couldn’t be close to Louis – who wouldn’t want to talk about it, of course. But he should at least be there.

With Louis.


	2. Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As long as Louis could remember, there always had been this magnetic force pulling at him, whenever they were close. He had loved it at first, had come to hate it over time. And now…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took me a bit longer than expected. Not sure if taking my time with it made it any better, but here goes. Louis POV, and I added some tags.  
Feedback would be very much appreciated <3

_Took some time_

_'Cause I’ve run out of energy_

_Of playing someone_

_I’ve heard I’m supposed to be_

_Honestly, I don't have to choose anymore_

LT, Habit

Harry was keeping up the texts, and it made Louis antsy.

Well, that was an understatement.

Louis was very good at understatements. What he really meant: Harry kept texting him, and Louis was completely and utterly addicted. By now, he compulsively checked his phone every few minutes, even if weeks passed sometimes between one message and the next.

But they didn’t stop. Or at least there had been another one three days ago.

Studio pic, with: _can’t wait for you to hear it_.

Which… ok, maybe Louis had sent Harry his album rough cut in one desperate bid at re-establishing communication, but it still floored him that Harry would want to share as well. Almost as if his opinion still counted.

Louis had barely resisted the urge to print the picture out and pin it to the wall like an absolute loon. The danger of that happening was still well and truly present, Louis thought, taking his eyes off a temptingly white and empty living room wall.

He had been so afraid before that last text, because there hadn’t been anything for a while.

(13 days. ‘For a while’, as if he didn’t remember. Stop being pathetic, Louis.)

And it was so uncharacteristic for Harry, to keep on with it, without any encouragement. Harry was the kind of person who very much thrived on encouragement. Well, who didn’t, but Harry… Harry had tended to scream so loudly and desperately that Louis had never held out very long, even when he’d sworn to himself over and over that they had to stop.

So often, though, Louis had given in, but had then given him so little. And not only because he thought that was what he had to do. Also because he was afraid of what Harry would do with it.

Harry, who was the opposite of guarded. Who felt everything all the time, to a quite worrying degree.

Harry, whose heart Louis had broken, breaking his own in the process, but being so sure at the time that it was the only option. And being so sure also that he wasn’t breaking Harry’s heart, not really. That Harry had de facto already left him behind.

Looking back now… No, he had not been sure. ‘Apt at lying to himself’, maybe, yeah. _Deluded_.

So convinced, over time, that Harry wasn’t really his, and most certainly not his to keep.

But now….

Well, Harry wasn’t his anymore, that much was obvious, only Louis had admitted to himself that there was a time, quite a long time, when he truly could have been. If Louis had allowed it.

He had learned, over the last years, the last months especially, to stop delusion in its tracks, whenever he noticed it taking hold again.

So much so, that he didn’t even flinch anymore when someone called him ‘authentic’ or ‘real’. Because, even if no one knew the truth yet, he finally didn’t feel like quite so much of a phony anymore. Most of the time, at least. Getting better at it, definitely.

And now, there were Harry’s strangely measured texts, not becoming louder or desperate anymore, just a steady stream of kindness.

So why hadn’t he texted back?

Pissing himself, that’s why, fucking coward that he could be. Good for Harry, wasn’t it, that he didn’t get so desperate anymore, but a bit worrying for Louis. What if it was just… Perhaps… perhaps Harry was just trying to normalise their interactions. Getting a bit soppy maybe, reminiscing a bit, but moving on.

It had hurt like hell, last time, but at least he’d only had himself to blame for the pain.

If he reached out now, and it all went to shit, if Harry wasn’t really interested, or if he decided, that, after all, it wasn’t worth it to bother with him again, to give him that third chance he definitely didn’t deserve, then… then it would be worse, because he’d never be able to blame Harry.

So, since before Christmas, since the texts started, Louis was going round and round in ever more absurd circles.

Then, Mr. Styles took the decision out of his hands.

Because, barely three days after the last text, there was another one.

_<I just realised, really realised, that I would never have to answer the girlfriend question anymore (well if I want that I’d have to lie about the ‘a bit bi’-thing, but I think it would definitely be worth it)>_

~---~

Honestly, such a Harry-thing, to use parenthesis in a text.

Louis chose to be annoyed about that part first, instead of… oh, who was he kidding.

Before he knew it, he was typing.

_<You’re not fucking coming out without me, Styles.>_

Sent.

He had sent it before his brain came back online.

Shite shite shite, that could be interpreted in a thousand different ways and really only meant one thing.

Three little typing dots appeared on the phone he was still clutching in his clammy hand like an idiot, and nearly gave him a heart attack.

Then… nothing.

No reply.

Only those dots, that he kept staring at.

And then they were gone.

Shite shite shite and shite squared.

Louis let himself fall backwards onto his sofa and counted himself lucky to at least be at home, alone, for this freak-out.

Then, before he’d processed anything: second heart attack moment of the day.

His phone was ringing.

_-Hazza-_

That’s what the display said.

_Ok._

_You’ve brought this upon yourself, whatever he wants to say, however loud he’s going to scream at you, however disappointed he sounds, however much you’ve hurt him right now, you’re going to listen._

He answered.

The call connected with a barely there, but ear-shattering click.

“L-Lou?”

Oh my god, he sounded like he was crying, voice all deep and breaking. Louis was utterly surprised in himself when his “Yeah?” came out steady, quite the opposite of how he was feeling.

“Did you mean it?”

_Oh, Harry._

“Yeah.”

It seemed to be all he was able to say right now, however much he tried to stop the word from tumbling out. Steady, still. For some reason.

There was a sharp breath on the other end, then a long silence. It ticked by to the rhythm of Harry’s breathing, which Louis could barely make out over the white noise in his ears.

Then,

“And what do you mean” – he was sniffling now, oh hell – “what do you mean ‘not without me’? Like, you want to come out, too? I, I would be so proud, Louis, really I would…”

_Oh._ He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but this hurt even more than everything that had come before. Harry sounded like he really meant it, too. Like he would be proud, like he could be content with that, like…

“Together, Hazza. I meant together.”

The call disconnected.

Louis screamed.

The noise of his phone shattering against the wall wasn’t in the least bit satisfying.

He curled into himself on the couch, foetal position, blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue.

He was shaking so badly; big ugly sobs rising in his chest and spilling out.

And then.

And then.

His landline began to ring.

His fucking landline.

The landline he’d wanted to get rid of for months now, because his mom had insisted on him getting it when he bought this house and it rang almost never, but when it did he would always think of her.

Which was both the reason why he wanted to get rid of it, and hadn’t done so yet.

_It could be Harry, it could be_ – but Harry did not have the number.

Still, almost like a marionette, Louis approached the stupid red comic-book-like phone Liam had bought him as a housewarming gift.

He dabbed at his mouth hastily with his sleeve, to get rid of the worst of the metallic taste.

Urgh. The light grey of his hoody stained quite spectacularly.

“Hello?”

This time, his voice absolutely sounded as wrecked as he felt.

“Lou! Thank god, Lou, fuck, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to hang up, and then you didn’t answer, I –“

Harry was tripping over his words, his voice cracking, but he kept on trying to get an actual sentence out until Louis started speaking. Then he quieted immediately.

“Hazza…”

Louis felt like he was in some kind of trance.

“How’d you get this number?”

“Oh, Eleanor, but that’s not the impor – “

“What?!”

Ok, so that had brought him out of his stupor quite effectively.

“What the hell do you mean, Els?”

The screeching betrayal in his voice made him cringe, and made Harry plead,

“Don’t hang up, please, Lou, I, whatever you think, it’s not like that!”

He, who usually took time with every word, sometimes to a quite comical degree, was speaking at breakneck speed.

He needn’t have bothered. Louis was way too stunned to hang up. How could they be in contact? How could that even have happened? And she hadn’t said, and maybe it had been wrong to trust her, and, oh god, he’d told her so many things over the years, especially over the last few months, when everything seemed in flux, and –

“Lou?”

Harry’s torrent of words had come to a stop and Louis hadn’t really heard any of it.

“Yeah?”

(Back to that, are we.)

“We need to talk.”

Louis didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. In person. They needed to talk in person.

With heroic effort, he managed a sentence. A question.

“Where are you?”

The answer was immediate.

“Here. I mean. London.”

Louis breathed a sigh of relief. This was the first time today that something went exactly as he’d hoped. Harry was here, and now he’d only have to convince himself to ask him over and then –

“Can I come?”

And he’d beaten him to it.

Strong. He’d always been so strong. But Louis could be, too.

“Please.”

On the other end of the line, Harry swallowed loudly.

His voice was deep and gravelly when he answered.

“Twenty minutes. I l –“

The call cut off.

Third heart attack moment of the day then.

Because Louis’ mind insisted on completing that last bit.

_I love you._

~---~

For a while, he dumbly listened to the free line signal.

Then, he sprang into action.

Blood-stained hoody. Fuck. Get another one.

Phone pieces in the living room. Fuck. Need to clean that.

But first…

Mirror.

Ok, he looked like he hadn’t slept. Which was true, of course. _Might also explain the not-thinking-about-that-text. And most of what came after._

There was no regret, though, right now, Louis found, as he stared himself down in the mirror.

No need to flinch, no need to look away.

There were a thousand unanswered questions, but also: hope. Dangerous and unbidden, but not unwelcome.

Louis nodded to his reflection, grabbed a new hoody, and thundered back down the stairs to clean up the remains of his phone.

It was mostly intact, actually, only a bit deformed, and the case had splintered into little annoying plastic shreds. Definitely not working anymore, though.

He looked over at the landline, a small, slightly hysteric laugh escaping him.

“Thanks, mom.”

~---~

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Louis wasn’t ready, though he had been anticipating it with every fibre of his body.

He’d wanted to sort through his thoughts, think about what he could possibly say, what Harry would say to him, he’d wanted to – He hadn’t managed anything.

Well.

He went to open the door.

Unlike that fateful day a few months ago, when Louis had followed Harry’s request and come to his place, knowing himself not to be ready at all, but hoping for the best, Harry didn’t ask before pulling him into a hug.

He was crushing him, and Louis let himself be crushed, only mumbling, the sound half drowned by the jacket he found himself pressed against,

“Close the fucking door, Harry.”

It sounded like a half-hearted protest at best, and Harry just huffed a laugh (I missed that sound, I missed it missed it missed it missed you), buried his face in Louis’ hair and breathed in.

_There never was any maybe about it_, Harry had written months ago, and in that moment, Louis finally truly believed it.

For a few precious seconds, at least. Until Harry pulled back, not really looking at him, and went to close the door.

“So…” he said.

“So…” Louis echoed.

Fuck, his whole body was itching to fall back into that embrace.

“Um, yeah, kitchen, maybe?”

What had made him say that, he wasn’t sure. But, well. It was the place to talk, wasn’t it. And at least the alcohol was close, if they’d need it.

Harry smiled at the suggestion, just the slightest upturn of lips, and followed him.

Louis motioned for him to sit – god, this was awkward, that they had to do things like that now, couldn’t just fall into a rhythm anymore – and walked around the table.

He needed something solid between them for this.

Again, his mind flashed back to that day at Harry’s place in L.A.

He’d come, that day, with the vague understanding that it would be saying goodbye. Closing the chapter, once and for all. _Sorry, I hope your life will be better now. Without me._

He’d expected Harry’s bitterness.

He hadn’t expected the hug, the kindness, the soft, pleading looks.

And he’d run away again.

Good thing they were doing this at his house this time. There was nowhere to run, and Louis was perfectly fine with that.

Now he’d only have to get himself to really look at Harry. And find some words.

In the end, it wasn’t that hard to lift his head, even if it had seemed impossible at first.

Harry had taken off his jacket. He was wearing one of Louis’ hoodies underneath.

“That’s mine, right?” he said stupidly, even though he knew it was. He stopped himself from reaching out just in time.

And Harry… blushed, his eyes crinkling for a second. The smile didn’t come, though, changed into a worried look halfway through.

“That ok?”

_What the actual…_

“Fuck. Harry, yeah. Of course.”

His tone must have been incredulous enough for Harry to feel the need to defend himself for the question.

“I’m just… not sure about anything anymore, you know?”

He didn’t even sound accusing, and still it hurt, it hurt. But Louis had been expecting that, didn’t have to think about his reply.

“Fair.”

Harry looked at him sharply. Louis didn’t look away, just watched him as he visible debated with himself, then asked, sounding tentative,

“So, could you maybe… explain a bit?”

_A nod. Come on, a nod’s easy. And then a few steadying breaths. And then, you talk._

“Right. Yeah. It.. it starts with me being a big fucking arsehole – “

“No you’re not.”

Harry sounded firm, all of a sudden. Adamant.

Louis swallowed, trying to rein in whatever his face was doing. Pained smile, or something like that.

“You’re gonna have to let me talk.”

Harry broke eye-contact, nodded, hands fidgeting, worrying nail polish off his thumb. Once again, the urge to reach out was overwhelming for a second. Then Louis had himself under control.

And he began.

Haltingly, because it was quite a different thing to be imagining a chance to talk than to finally get it. Or allow himself to take it. Whatever.

He talked about pressure, about messed-up people, about the things that had been said to him and that had seemed like the end of the world then, and seemed so insignificant, or at least very surmountable, now.

For some reason, Harry was nodding along.

Not surprised, not taken aback.

“I figured,” he whispered at one point, and Louis had to swallow around the lump in his throat. Harry sounded so self-flagellating.

_Not your fault, Harry, I should have told you, but then you would have flipped out, all hell would have broken loose and… and I was afraid of losing you in the process. Didn’t realize that I was well on the way of achieving the same end result, only painfully slowly._

A deep breath, and then he said exactly that.

“Lou.”

Harry said it in a small voice, his eyes wide.

“Lou, never.”

And he reached a hand out over the table, palm up.

~---~

For a long time, they sat at the table, holding hands, both of them looking down at the both familiar and unfamiliar sight.

Then, Harry brushed his thumb over the 28 and Louis gave a shaky, hoarse laugh.

“I think we need a drink.”

“Yeah.”

Harry grinned at him, bright and sunny for a moment, and didn’t let go of his hand.

And just for that moment, Louis was transported back. Back to the time when nothing had bothered them, as Harry had put it.

Then, Harry’s smile faded, though he still didn’t let go of his hand.

Louis cleared his throat.

“Right. Should I get us…”

Harry did not take the hint. Well, to be fair, Louis had made no motion to untangle their fingers, either.

With a last look at Harry, he made the attempt to get up. Only for Harry to follow suit, and catch his hand, just as they parted.

Louis almost fell back down on his seat again when Harry leaned forward, and brushed his lips over the back of his hand; a light touch.

A monumental touch.

There was a beat of stunned silence, from both of them.

Then, suddenly, Louis found himself on the other side of the table, and in Harry’s arms again.

“I missed you.”

Finally, he didn’t hold back on the words anymore, and Harry echoed them right away.

“Missed you too, Lou.”

Louis wanted to kiss him. Oh god, how he wanted. But…

But.

They had a long way to go before he would allow himself that again.

~---~

They were not drunk.

Only one shot of strong stuff each, because Harry seemed to have realized just as quickly as him what would happen if they got smashed.

It was an old, familiar pattern after all, and if Louis had any say in it he would never, ever again wake up beside this man and feel like he’d have to regret it.

So they had steered away from the stronger alcohol, and were sipping beers on the couch.

“Come on. Hit me. I’m sure you’ve got more stuff to ask,” Louis murmured, without looking at Harry.

“Yeah.”

Harry’s voice sounded rough. He hesitated for a long minute, until Louis couldn’t stop himself from looking over anymore.

Harry grimaced.

Louis looked away again.

And Harry said,

“So, um, your… son…”

He had been expecting that.

“Freddie. I tend to assume he’s my son, yeah.”

It was meant to sound flippant, but Harry heard the truth behind the words. Of course he fucking did.

“What do you… you mean you don’t know?”

Incredulousness was prominent in Harry’s voice, but Louis didn’t look over.

“You know, I never even asked her to prove it. Maybe management did, but if so, she didn’t tell me. Nor did they.”

Quietly, he told the story from the beginning. This one, he’d thought about telling a hundred times, and he’d had a hundred ideas in his head of how to make it sound not quite as bad.

He was a bit proud of himself for not using any of them, trying to stick to the facts instead.

How they both had been in a very bad place the night they met. How they’d both drunkenly hit on the same guy. How they’d commiserated when he didn’t want anything to do with either of them.

How they’d both been feeling too raw from missing someone.

Louis had been drunk enough to tell Briana that management wanted to set him up with another girlfriend, and she’d grinned at him, looked him up and down, and said, “I’ll do it.”

And, that evening, Louis had liked that, had liked her for it.

“Liked her enough to sleep with her?”

Harry sounded bewildered, and more than a bit wounded. For the first time today, Louis was angry with him.

“Do you, of all people, really think you can judge me for that?”

_Really._ Having sex to feel better was kind of Harry’s thing, wasn’t it. And he’d never stopped to think how that might hurt Louis. Well, Louis had also never stopped to tell him how much it hurt him but. Beside the point right now.

“No.”

Harry said it easily, and, a bit guiltily, he added,

“Just didn’t think you were the type, I guess.”

“’M not.”

Louis looked at his hands.

“Never doing that again. But I don’t regret it.”

How could he, when there was Freddie to live for, even during the darkest times.

Surprisingly enough, Harry seemed to follow his train of thought.

“Think I can meet him?”

_Calm down_, Louis told his stupidly hammering heart.

“Sure. If you really want to.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

~---~

“I should leave.”

Harry sounded like he felt obliged to say it, because night had already fallen outside.

They had talked some more.

About why Louis had done the X-Factor, about why Harry had known to call Eleanor, about album plans (and, very carefully, about some of the songs). About how Liam and Niall were doing. About family.

They had talked and talked.

Without yelling once, even when it came to the jealousy, and Louis old perception of ‘everybody loves Harry, and Harry loves that’ (not completely unfounded, but surely not as simple as all that) and Harry’s accusation of ‘you always held me at arm’s length’ (definitely not unfounded, but not entirely true either). With defeated sighs, they admitted that it took two for the good things, but definitely also for the bad ones. Something everybody knew and no one really did, until they’d experienced it themselves.

After those discussions, Harry had said, wonderingly, almost a bit dreamily,

“We’re being very adult about this, aren’t we?”

Louis’ eyebrows had shot up.

And they had laughed. Really laughed together for the first time in an eternity.

After that, they had realised they were hungry, and had shared a pizza.

And now, Harry was talking about leaving.

“You could take one of the guest rooms.”

Harry only looked at him.

_Yeah_. They both knew they wouldn’t wake up in separate beds in that case.

“Okay then. Off you go.”

Louis tried very much for light-hearted, but the words fell flat.

There was a small, fragile smile on Harry’s face.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Studio.”

Harry’s face fell.

“I’m flying out the day after tomorrow. Are you planning on – “

“Three weeks. I’ve got a flight for L.A. in three weeks. After the ‘Two of US’ promo’s through.”

The tentative smile was back.

“You’ll call?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

They said an awkward goodbye at the door, not touching.

But, after everything, it wasn’t so bad, saying goodbye with a smile and a hopeful look.

~---~

In the end, Louis did not take his flight in March.

And it was Harry that called him.

“Lou. Should I come?”

Louis didn’t ask him who’d informed him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now. But still, he found himself saying,

“Yes. Please.”

So Harry was there, to coax him out of his numbness after police calls, and soothe his anger after press calls. How could they. At a time like this.

Harry was there at some family meetings, too, and no one said anything about it.

They just, all of them, held onto each other as best they could.

~---~

Oh, how Louis had wanted to kiss him then, just to feel something.

_Not a good reason, _had been the constant mantra in his head.

And he’d made it.

Harry was off again, and even though they’d shared a frankly ridiculously long hug before he left for the airport, they had not kissed.

Louis’ brain told him that was a good thing, while his whole being screamed the opposite.

He grabbed the nearest thing to type on (his new phone) and let words spill out, until he’d calmed at least a little bit.It wasn’t anything good, anything ‘usable’, the stuff he was writing right now, in this kind of mindset. But it did help.

A text flashed on his screen.

_<You know, I meant it: if you ever need to talk, just call.>_

From Adam. Adam Lambert.

Impeccable timing, Louis had to give him that.

They’d run into each other a few times, over the years, Simon bloody Cowell a connection they shared, but they’d only really talked last autumn, during X factor filming. Adam had treated him a bit too carefully, a bit too warily. As if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, or was afraid of how he might be treated in return.

Louis had hated that, of course. But he couldn’t really fault him for it.

He certainly had avoided Adam more than once when they were in the same place, during the height of the denial years.

_‘Too gay?’_ Harry’s bitter voice had been fresh in his mind this time.

And Louis had gone over to say hi.

They had been waiting around on set for a live show rehearsal, and some technical problem had kept them from continuing for an insanely long time.

So they’d talked a bit.

Louis had kind of admired the way Adam very skilfully navigated through the conversation without rubbing it under his nose that he was out, while Louis was not.

Just a conversation between blokes.

About management changes, perfectionism, trying to finally get some music out. That kind of stuff.

With only that one moment, right at the end, of ‘let me give you my number, in case you ever want to talk’, and a friendly clap on the shoulder.

_Why the hell not, actually._

Louis pressed call.

There were noises on the other end, a muffled curse, then, “Um. Yeah. Hi.”

Sometimes Louis surprised himself these days with grinning about something so mundane, but he refused to feel guilty about it. There was no need for that. It didn’t betray the people you were grieving, to allow yourself to get back to normal in every little way you could. He knew that now, from bitter experience.

So he allowed the grin to stay in his voice when he asked,

“Bad time?”

A dog was barking in the background now.

“Oh, sorry Loui-s, Lou-eh, I mean, sorry, I know the ‘s’ is silent, don’t get mad at me, I just… there you go.”

The last part was clearly said to the dog, which had probably been let out into the garden or something. At least there was a moment of silence on the other end now, before Adam was back, with a little huff of laughter.

“So, was that embarrassing or what?”

Louis would certainly not tell him he felt more at ease right now than he had in a long time.

“Nah mate. Dogs, I know how it is.”

And they were off talking about their dogs for a while, until Adam asked into the following silence,

“So, any specific reason why you called?”

Not keeping the mistrust out of his voice, Louis replied,

“Was there a reason why you texted, then?”

Adam didn’t sound phased.

“Just heard your name a lot recently, in the gossip stuff, thought something might be going on.”

Well, with that light tone, he clearly hadn’t stopped to listen.

“My sister died.”

Louis said it flatly.

“Oh. God. Sorry.”

He did sound sorry. But Louis was so tired, just so tired all of a sudden, and he recognized the feeling all too well.

“Yeah, mate. Not why I called, but I think… maybe some other time.”

It was a relief that the other just acquiesced.

It was hit and miss, right now, whether Louis would stay okay or whether something, just one small thing, would derail him for the whole day.

And it didn’t help in the slightest that that was an all too familiar experience.

He did call again the next day, though.

~---~

“You know, I’d really like to know why you don’t – “ he just about stopped himself from saying ‘hate’ – “resent the hell out of people like me.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

Okay, so maybe he could have said hi first.

But, then again, Adam was already replying, not even sounding annoyed.

“Sometimes I have done, you know. But nah, wouldn’t want to switch places with you, so why should I resent you?”

Before Louis could find a reply to that, he added,

“Also, Idol happened in my late twenties, so there you have it. All of that as a teenager… I don’t even want to know where I’d be now.”

“Shoved back into the closet, if my experience is anything to go by.”

He had really said that.

Adam sucked in a sharp breath, clearly audible on Louis end, and he realised he almost enjoyed this. He’d recently remembered how much he once used to like shocking people.

“Oh. Okay.”

The reply was carefully neutral.

“Judging me yet?”

“I won’t be judging you for anything, darling.”

Louis laughed drily.

“Not even for letting myself be pushed into a breakup?”

Another sharp breath.

“Fuck, that’s bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Says a lot about this lovely industry, that I’m not even surprised. This was a few years back?”

“Yeah.”

“And… the guy? Someone important to you?”

Louis coughed to hide whatever his voice wanted to be doing right now, turning away from the phone mic for a second.

“Could say that, yeah.”

“Man… okay. Go ahead, I guess, if you want to get some stuff off your chest.”

Now Louis was very reluctant to go on. He had anticipated that. He didn’t know Adam that well, after all, and he liked to keep things close to home. But his options were kind of limited right now – he‘d feel very selfish talking about this with family, he had to be the strong one there, as much as he could. And Liam… Liam had _opinions_ on this. Opinions Louis really did not want right now.

“Basically… We have, well I have broken up with him twice, and now that I’ve had a bit of time, I…”

He trailed off. Adam sounded neutral still, when he answered. Did he know enough about the band to know whom he was talking about, Louis wondered. But he wasn’t going to ask.

“Now you regret it.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he still talking to you?”

That question had gotten a different answer recently, and Louis couldn’t help but smile a little because of it.

“Yes, well, we’ve talked a lot, actually.”

Adam’s reply was one verbal eye-roll. Louis would have found it funny, if the subject matter hadn’t been so serious to him.

“You what? Okay, man, what are you waiting for then? He wouldn’t go through that, if he didn’t want to get ba… unless he’s some kind of saint?”

Louis laughed, somewhere between a genuine cackle and a pained wheeze.

“Umm… no. Well…maybe a little bit, though?”

_Fuck, did I just say that. Do I really think that?_

Adam sounded a bit taken aback, too.

“O-kay. Well, anyway, normally I’d say any guy willing to… you did say two break-ups, didn’t you?”

_Ouch_.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, just go ahead, tell him how you feel and put both of you out of your misery, then. Honestly.”

There was a frankly admirable level of sass in Adam’s voice, and suddenly Louis had had quite enough of this conversation. What the hell had he even been thinking, letting this go so far?

He just about managed not to be rude and cut the conversation off directly, but it cost him a monumental effort to slowly ease out of it politely.

There was nothing for it.

He had to talk to Liam, after all.

~---~

Louis liked phone calls for this sort of thing. It was quite good not to have to look at people when talking about the serious stuff.

Nevertheless, he was well chuffed when it just so happened that Liam texted him a few days later.

_<Fancy a pint? Need your opinion on something.>_

_<Yeah me too actually. My place?>_

Done. Now he couldn’t back out of it, because Liam wouldn’t forget. (Louis had been working up the nerve to call him for the last few days, but might have needed a few more to actually get round to it).

Liam wanted to talk business, it turned out, and Louis made a few suggestions.

“That’s brilliant, is what that is, Tommo. I’ve always said you were the smart one.”

“No you haven’t.”

Liam grinned at him, happy and a bit mischievous.

“No I haven’t.”

Louis pretended to be mortally offended for a second, and then he was grinning back. He’d have to spoil the mood soon, though.

While he was thinking about how to start, Liam tilted his head, and narrowed his eyes a little, mustering him.

_Oh, okay then, I’ll bite._

“What?”

Full-on frown now. Then a smile, more of an interview smile than a genuine one.

“Dunno. Something’s up, huh?”

Well, that was the danger of living in each other’s pockets for years. Liam knew him way too well. How to best ease into the topic?

“Talked to any of the others recently?”

The frown was back with a vengeance.

“You know I haven’t. Did yo – no.”

Yep. That’s what he’d feared. Without him actually having said anything, Liam had drawn his conclusions. He sounded incredulous.

“Louis Tomlinson, you can’t be serious. You did not… Tell me you didn’t call him.”

He couldn’t help it. He got defensive immediately.

“Bit quick to judge there, aren’t you? And maybe he did call me first.”

There was no need to tell Liam about the initial dramatic gestures. Sending the album, getting Nick to –

Liam interrupted his train of thought.

“Still. It’s gonna… remember how he messed you up last time?”

One deep breath, just to stay calm, and then Louis told him exactly what he thought about that, while Liam tried to get a word in edgewise.

Why was Liam saying that Harry had messed him up, first of all, because, if anything, Louis had managed to mess himself up quite spectacularly (“Oh, don’t you dare conveniently forget all the times you fell into a deep hole because Harry Styles had once again – ”), and also, things would be different now, wouldn’t they, with less pressure bearing down on them from all sides, and, by the way, you’re not so innocent as all that, Payno, always telling us to be careful and to tone it down a notch (“…”), that shut you up quickly, huh?, and you know I haven’t even asked him whether… whether he’s interested, I mean, he seemed to be, and I, I have to try, I really don’t see any point anymore in not taking the risk if I think it’s worth it –

He shut up, when Liam held up two placating hands.

“What do you need me for, if you’ve already made up your mind?”

“Huh. Guess I have.”

_Thank you for pointing that out, Payno._

Liam looked very sceptical still, but he smiled a little anyway. Then he leaned forward eagerly.

“Right. Now tell me everything.”

The next morning, Louis called Lottie.

“When’s your thing in L.A. again? I’m coming.”

~---~

Plane rides had become such a routine by now, but this time, Louis looked out the window like a little kid when California stretched out below them.

Somehow, he was more giddy than anything right now.

Then, Lottie elbowed him in the side, asking, “Nervous?” and it hit him so suddenly he felt like he might vomit. Yeah, nervous didn’t quite cut it.

Since they’d left London he’d alternated between being immensely glad that Lottie was there and resenting her deeply for her presence at a moment like this (never mind that it was her L.A. trip in the first place). Right now, he did not want to be observed, did especially not want to be seen. On the other hand, having to put up a front always helped to actually keep your shit together. So.

“’M fine.”

“Sure.”

Louis bit back a reply to that. Lottie had no idea really, or maybe she did, but not because Louis had told her anything. He’d just asked her to send Harry over to his room when it came to it. The fact that Lottie had not had any questions about that probably meant that she saw right through him, but Louis did not have the capacity to worry about it, on top of…

There had been a long phone call with Harry, a few days ago.

About… well.

“I have to tell you I’m sorry, too,” Harry had said. And that, out of the blue, had definitely been the wrong thing to say. Louis’ heart ached with the thought of Harry moving on. He’d always assumed he would, eventually. That was the way it went, wasn’t it, at least if you were a decent human being, like Harry was. Apologize. Then move on.

Very casually, Louis asked,

“About what?”

“’Bout pushing you. ‘Bout never being content with, with what you had to give. ‘Bout, ah, you know…”

Harry sounded very uncomfortable now.

…well, you know, that ridiculous notion of sleeping around being okay, just because it was so ‘rockstar’?”

Contrite. That’s how he sounded. Louis didn’t think he’d ever heard him like that. He didn’t even stop to think what all of this might mean for him. Harry shouldn’t sound like this. Period.

“Harry, I don’t – “

_I don’t think any of this is really your fault_, he’d meant to say, but maybe it was, a bit. Just because Louis hadn’t loudly protested against the sleeping around at the time didn’t make it okay. And perhaps Harry had actually pushed a bit too much, but…

“You don’t…?”

Harry sounded alarmed, and Louis tried to reassure him. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded.

It had gotten him to think, and overthink, the whole thing again.

They had always, from the outset, understood each other so incredibly well that they had started to assume. Louis saw that now. Assume that they knew everything about each other, assume that they always knew how the other felt.

And apparently, they’d been fundamentally wrong more than once. Louis could barely fathom how Harry had gotten to a point where he wanted to apologise, never having seen any reason for him to do so. But now that Harry had pointed out his reasons, it wasn’t quite so implausible anymore.

Louis had done a lot of thinking over the last year or so. Destructive at first, a bit less so with the months passing. Writing and rewriting the songs had helped, a little. Label people being sceptical about the songs hadn’t. But Louis was figuring out something about that. He had a live date planned, and a vague idea of perhaps just performing a few of the unreleased ones.

They’d talked about that, too, on the phone, and Harry had had a clearly audible smile in his voice when he declared,

“If you’ll do that, I’ll be there.”

Alone in his hotel room, Louis replayed that sentence in his mind over and over again, _I’ll be there I’ll be there I’ll be there…_

Really, why was he so fucking nervous? Over the last weeks – months, really – Harry hadn’t given him any reason to believe he didn’t want to try again. Louis had conjured up a whole host of reasons, read them into what Harry said, but they’d all been false, hadn’t they?

Still, it was a last chance. Who wouldn’t be nervous, after having failed twice?

~---~

On this sunny L.A. afternoon, mostly jetlag-free for now because of the nerves, Louis felt ridiculous, sitting there on the hotel bed, waiting. Like… like some kind of… some kind of maiden waiting for their illicit love. It did not sit well with him.

When the knock on the door finally came, he’d annoyed himself into a right snit.

He opened the door, and gestured for Harry to come in, closing the door behind him immediately. A snarky greeting died on his lips as he took in the great Harry Styles, looking absolutely frazzled and actually wringing his hands, the fingers half-interlocked and turning this way and that in rapid succession.

Louis had to smile. Or smirk, more like; his eyebrows rising.

Harry looked like he’d been caught, which made Louis smile more.

“Nervous, Harold?”

Much more fun to ask that than to be asked.

Harry just looked at him and disarmed him completely with his reply.

“Yeah.”

_You really shouldn’t be. There never was anyone else for me, after all. _

He just about stopped himself from becoming the king of all soppiness by saying that. He didn’t know what his face was doing, though. Probably saying exactly that, just not in as many words.

There were a few beats of stillness, silence.

_Oh_, Louis realised. He’s just as afraid as I am of taking the first step.

Well, then.

From experience, it shouldn’t be too difficult, once he stopped resisting.

As long as Louis could remember, there always had been this magnetic force pulling at him, whenever they were close. He had loved it at first, had come to hate it over time. And now…

With no small amount of surprise, he realised it was absent.

Louis was free.

Right now, he could turn around. Walk out.

He looked at the man in front of him, seeing traces of the boy he’d fallen in love with, and glaring differences as well.   
Kindness in the eyes, both mischief and uncertainty in the smile, a calm sureness in the posture, hectic nervousness in the gestures; and how exactly did he always manage to look so eccentric and so grounded at the same time?

It wasn’t a compulsion, but a decision, when Louis took the first step towards him. And he was glad for it.

Harry simply looked at him, as Louis closed the distance, placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and tilted his head upwards for a kiss.

One of many, but also the first.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks. There might be an epilogue, I've jotted down some notes.
> 
> Read you soon :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos? Comments? Protests? Corrections? 
> 
> ...are all very much appreciated :-)


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